


Peverell

by SkeletonHellflame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Female Harry Potter, Gen, Harry Potter Raises Tom Riddle, Master of Death Harry Potter, Short Chapters, Young Tom Riddle, because I realised how awful I am with summaries, harry potter adopts tom riddle, not crack but not serious either, well I lied shitty summary shall remain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 7,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25473934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkeletonHellflame/pseuds/SkeletonHellflame
Summary: Tom had never believed that he would ever be adopted and yet...
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle
Comments: 210
Kudos: 1517
Collections: Harry Potter Fics, i have seen your heart and it is mine





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> This is chapter one of seven currently written and might upload one chapter every Friday, unless I opt for uploading one every second Friday until all written chapters are posted.

Tom looked up from his book and out the window just in time to spot a woman coming to visit the orphanage. He couldn’t make out much due to her umbrella, nothing more than a dark dress and coat.  
He was certain she was there, looking to adopt one of his fellow orphans, he didn’t hold out much hope of being chosen. The few who had seemed interested in the past, had always been scared off by the stories Mrs Cole told them of him. They always painted him the worst light possible, making him seem like some kind of devil’s spawn.

Hence his waiting for all the other orphans to rush past, on Martha’s order, before he sedately followed them into the “playroom”, where they were supposed to be on their very best behaviour in order to seem the most attractive ones to adopt. Everyone wished to be the next one to leave the dreary old orphanage.  
Tom sat down in his usual corner, placing his book against his raised knees and prepared himself to be unseen and undesired—as always.

Soon enough, far too soon in Tom’s opinion, he heard Mrs Cole’s simpering voice and barely registered the odd tone underneath. Almost as though she was intimidated by the other, yet... not. It also sounded as though she was very keen on remaining in the other person’s good graces. It was far too contradicting for Tom to care enough to truly decipher. He was only eight, but he already knew that he had a hard time understanding or deciphering some emotions and figured that this was one of those times.

When Mrs Cole entered the room with the unknown woman in tow, the first thing he registered was the woman’s hair; it was the colour of wildfire. Once her gaze turned from the simpering old hag to the children, Tom saw eyes that were _green_ like _death._

He scrunched up his nose ever so slightly. Green like death? Death was not green. Death was black like rot. Death was white like bone. It was _not_ green.  
The thought still refused to leave.

The woman smiled softly at the children, it looked off on her. It looked real enough, yet as though it didn’t quite belong on her face.  
Her presence, however, everyone closest to her seemed to fidget and Mrs Cole seemed to slowly shrink where she stood next to her. No one seemed to notice. No one seemed to truly _register_ the primal _fear_ the woman inspired in them all, it was as though Tom was the only one who did.  
Still, he stayed where he was like a fool.

“Children, this is Mrs Peverell and she is looking to adopt one of you,” Mrs Cole informed them. “ _Behave_ now.” He last words were primarily aimed at Tom and he knew it, she always assumed the worst of him.

“Hello children,” Mrs Peverell said, her voice was deceptively soft and melodic.

“Hello missus Peverell,” the majority of the children replied in some semblance of a chorus.

Tom observed only for so long that he saw Mrs Peverell _glide_ further into the room and since he knew he wouldn’t be chosen, he returned to his book.

Thus, it came as a shock, a few minutes later, when Mrs Peverell was suddenly crouched in front of him. He ruthlessly suppressed the urge to jump and merely twitched instead. He hadn’t even _heard_ her approach, hadn’t heard her crouch down. He prided himself of _always_ knowing when someone came near him. Silent as the grave, was his immediate thought.

“Hello child,” she said with a light grin, as though she knew very well what he had thought.”

“Hello,” he replied. What else could he do in the presence and under the direct scrutiny of this woman who exuded _danger_ in a way no one else had ever done?  
Still, it was as though the danger wasn’t directed at _him_ at all? It made no sense to him.

“That is Tom Riddle, ma’am,” Mrs Cole immediately intervened, “he’s something of a delinquent, not a kind child at all. He’s always in the midst of everything bad happening here.”

Tom had barely the time to scowl at Mrs Cole, before Mrs Peverell spoke. It was clear she spoke to the matron of the orphanage but her gaze did not waver from Tom’s face.

“He’s perfect.”

Tom blinked and Mrs Cole sputtered at the proclamation, she couldn’t believe that anyone could consider Tom anything other than a devil in human form and tried her best to inform Mrs Peverell of this.

The latter silenced the matron with a single raised hand and the air seemed to cool by several degrees as she rose up, just as silently as before, and turned around in a manner that was eerie yet graceful. There seemed to have been none of the required leg movements for such an action and Tom was reminded of the way she seemed to have _glided_ into the room, instead of walked.

“I will have this child,” she said. Her soft tone had an undercurrent of steel and it was clear she expected obedience and nothing less.


	2. TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's past midnight here, but since it's still Friday in some parts of the world, I still say this is on time. HAH.
> 
> Alright, alright, I almost forgot.

Tom wasn’t sure what to expect from being  _ chosen  _ by Mrs Peverell and deemed  _ perfect  _ by her, despite Mrs Cole’s valiant attempt at dissuading her.  
The matron seemed to cower before the other woman. The latter, despite being the shorter one, managed to look  _ down  _ on the elder woman.

“Yes, of course, ma’am,” Mrs Cole finally conceded in an interestingly stilted manner. “If you would follow me to finalise the adoption papers, of course we need to wait for your husband.” She turned her gaze to Tom and couldn’t quite hide her disgust as she harshly commanded him, “Collect your belongings.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tom responded with a nod. With those words, he rose up from his spot in the corner and briefly observed the two women make their way toward Mrs Cole’s office before he made his way to his room.

He didn’t have much that was deemed  _ his _ and knew it wouldn’t take much time for him to collect them and put them all in the bag that he owned. Much of his wardrobe belonged to the orphanage and thus he only packed the essentials, as well as keeping what he already wore. He  _ certainly  _ wasn’t about to parade through the orphanage  _ naked. _   
He sincerely hoped that Mrs Peverell would buy him an entire new wardrobe. She looked rich and that kind of people rarely accepted that their ward (or child) would look anything other than cared for, at least cared for in the monetary sense.

After having collected his belongings and double checked that he hadn’t missed anything, he decided that it would be appropriate to make his way back down.  
It ought to have passed enough time for Mrs Peverell’s husband to have arrived and for them to sign the papers. At least in  _ his _ mind it should have been enough time, he had no prior experience in being adopted.

Ignoring the other children’s glares as he made his way toward the matron’s office, he began to wonder about the odd feelings he received from the woman. The sheer terror she induced with her mere presence, there was something off with that. No one had ever felt like her and he was usually very good at figuring people out, especially adults.  
Mrs Peverell was an enigma.

She was danger. Except to him, the thought refused to leave him. He had no idea why the danger she exuded wasn’t aimed at him, only at everyone else.  
He couldn’t shake it and he was determined to figure it out.

Mere moments after he had arrived before Mrs Cole’s office, he heard her voice;  
“Yes, of course.” A brief pause before the door began to open. “Goodbye Mr and Mrs Peverell!”

Yet,  _ only  _ Mrs Peverell stepped out from the office and she motioned for Tom to follow her.  
He glanced backwards, but saw no sign of a  _ Mr  _ Peverell. He glared at his new guardian’s back and wondered what was going on, but it wasn’t until they had exited the orphanage and stepped out on the road that she finally spoke.

“You must have questions, I will answer then when we are at home,” Mrs—Ms?—Peverell said and proceeded to walk to an empty alley, before spinning around to face Tom.

Home. That simple word struck a chord within Tom and he did not wish to examine that yet.  
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

Mrs— Ms— Peverell held out her arm.  
“Hold on tight and I suggest closing your eyes and taking a deep breath when I count to three,” she said, or rather ordered.

Tom hesitated briefly, before hesitantly grabbing her arm. Peverell counted to three and Tom did as she had instructed, further tightening his hold on her arm.

Suddenly it was as though he was forced through a thin straw that lasted for several seconds, before appearing in front of intricate gates.  
He gasped and would have fallen over, hadn’t Peverell held on to him.

“Welcome to Peverell Manor.”  
Tom could  _ hear _ the capital letter in Manor and quickly looked up in spite of the nausea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is obviously not how adoption works, but Peverell is using liberal amounts of magic to speed everything up.  
> The tag "not crack but not serious either" is meant to be heeded. This whole fic is written just for the fun of it.


	3. THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lateness, I didn't have the time or opportunity before now!

Peverell _Manor_.

More like a _castle_ , Tom thought in stunned amazement as he tried to see as much as possible from the distance they were at. Pillars and towers and everything architectural that he had no idea of. Architecture had never interested him before, but he thought that he might need to read up on it just to understand everything about his new… home.  
The word struck him again. Home. He’d never had one before. The orphanage wasn’t a home, no matter what anyone tried to say and he doubted that any of the orphans considered the place a _home_.

Soon he noticed Peverell grinning at him, it was an eerie grin that somehow fit her far better than any smile had done. It looked more natural on her and he did not wish to ponder more on that.  
He didn’t feel threatened, however.

She motioned him closer to the gates and pressed one hand against it.

“I am Lady Artemisia Angerona, of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Peverell,” she intoned and motioned Tom closer. She grabbed one of his hands with her free one and pressed it against the gate as well, keeping her hand over it. “Thomas Marvolo Riddle is my Ward and Heir.”

It was all Tom understood, the rest was spoken in what he _assumed_ to be Latin, and he had to concentrate on staying still. Something had stung him and he would have removed his hand hadn’t Pev— _Lady Artemisia_ held him in place from the start.

A weight suddenly descended upon him and a scrutinising feeling came over him and lasted for several long moments, when it suddenly all receded and Lady Artemisia released his hand.

“The wards are granting you access,” Lady Artemisia said with that grin again, while motioning for the gates to open. “Come along.”

Without waiting, she made her way toward the Manor, leaving Tom to come out of his daze and hurry after her. The gates closed silently behind them.  
He had a million questions, but couldn’t decide which one to prioritise and remained silent instead.

“You will be allowed to explore the Manor and the surrounding land later, first you will be shown your rooms and then we shall dine,” she said as she turned her gaze to him. “It should give you sufficient time to sort out your questions that I can see brimming within your mind.”

Tom narrowed his eyes, her ability to read him so easily was beginning to disturb him.  
His annoyance was soon forgotten as he stepped inside the opulent building. It felt as there was far too much to see already in the entrance hall and somehow it all managed to not feel gaudy, he wasn’t certain how he would describe it all. Once more he was reminded of his lack of knowledge on architecture--ignoring the obvious fact that he was only _eight_.

He barely had a mind to try and memorise the way they took through the Manor to reach a set of doors.

“These shall be your rooms,” Lady Artemisia said as she opened one of the doors, “as befitting an Heir of House Peverell.” She grinned again.

Tom decided that he did not wish to figure out why she had grinned at him again and instead walked inside.

“This is your sitting room, through that door,” she pointed to the right, “is your bedroom and through it you will reach your wardrobe and your bathroom.”

Tom’s eyes widened, his _rooms_ were larger than some _apartments_ in London.

“Tomorrow, or the day after that, we shall venture into Diagon Alley to get you a full wardrobe,” Lady Artemisia said as she looked at the clothes that he wore. “It all depends on you, when we will go. I will transfigure your… rags into a robe before we leave.”

Tom bristled. She had _no right_ to criticise his clothes when she clearly had the money to indulge herself, while he had never had any money.

Lady Artemisia raised a hand. “Spare me,” she said. “I am older than you think and I have lived a life similar to yours, before I realised who I am.”

Tom immediately deflated, knowing that she was right. It didn’t stop him from wondering exactly how old she was. She didn’t look all that old, but he suspected that magic had something to do with it. Maybe magic kept people looking younger for longer?

“I will leave you to freshen yourself up, then we shall have dinner.” Lady Artemisia swept out of the room and closed the door softly behind her.

Tom stood awkwardly in the middle of his sitting room, before hesitantly moving into his bedroom.  
A large bed was situated at the center and he couldn’t help but stare at its size. He had never even dreamed of ever sleeping in a bed that large and he was certain that it was as soft as it looked.

He placed his bag at the foot of the bed, before moving to check the bathroom.


	4. FOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I'm a day late. I kinda forgot, sorry about that!

Finding the dining room had been a chore and he had found it only because Lady Artemisia had come to fetch him. He had taken the time it took to walk to the family dining room to demand some answers and he found out that they were _Wixen_ ; magic users. He had also found out that he was a Parselmouth, after he had blurted out his ability to speak to snakes. Apparently it was a very rare gift, a gift that also she had.

“Are you going to accompany me when I explore the Manor?” Tom inquired as they were eating.

“No, you may go alone,” she replied.

Tom raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t afraid that I’ll go somewhere I shouldn’t and get injured or killed?”

“That’d be a learning experience,” Artemisia said with a sinister grin. It looked disturbing and Tom’s immediate thought was of a grinning skull. He visibly paled.

A few moments later, she chuckled. “Don’t worry, my dear. A House-elf will be keeping an eye on you and help you if needed. Simply call for Holly if you need help in finding anything.”

Tom nodded. He had been introduced to House-elves before they had begun eating and they were odd creatures for sure.

“What should I call you?” he asked, he had been wondering for a while. Calling her Lady Artemisia had started to become annoying, even though it was only in his head.

“Call me what you wish,” she replied. “Artemisia, Sia, Ma’am, Peverell. If you feel particularly formal, you may call me Lady Artemisia or Lady Peverell.”

Calling her Sia felt too familiar and he didn’t really want to go with the formal address. “I think I’ll go with Artemisia,” he decided.  
A part of him was surprised, yet _relieved_ , that she hadn’t wanted him to call her mother. He had heard stories where some adoptive parents demanded to be called mother or father.

“Do you prefer to be called Tom or Thomas?” she asked.

Tom hesitated. He had always been called _Tom_ by everyone, even though his name was Thomas.  
“Either is fine,” he eventually settled on.

Artemisia nodded and they continued their meal in silence. Once both were finished, she shooed him off to explore the manor after promising that he would be allowed to ask her more questions once he had done so.  
He got lost on a number of occasions and had been forced to swallow his pride and call for Holly’s aid. The one thing to put a stop to his explorations had been the finding of the _Library_.

The room was truly _massive_ with more books than Tom had ever seen in his life and he was informed by Holly that he was allowed to read almost any of them.  
The House-elf had warned him off from a section of the library, informing him that he would not be allowed in there without Lady Artemisia. He was also informed that wards protected the area and even if he tried, he would not be able to enter. Only Artemisia and one of the House-elves were keyed in to the wards in question.

He could not help but wonder what kind of books the area held and was only informed that they were dark and dangerous.  
Hadn’t Holly seemed so serious while informing him, he would have scoffed at the thought that books could be a danger. Magic was, after all, involved. Magic _could_ be dangerous.

Still, it was another question to ask later, he was _curious_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you were curious of Tom's questioning of Artemisia, but my intention had been that it would be up to you readers to guess what kind of questions he would ask. Otherwise this chapter would have become rather... long. I _could_ have divided it into several chapters, but figured that would be boring.


	5. FIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to upload this chapter earlier, but I was kinda busy looking after four very cuddly dogs since yesterday late afternoon until a few hours ago (it is currently nearing 10pm here).
> 
> I will answer comments later when I'm not too tired to do so!

The next day had marked the day when Tom was taken to Diagon Alley for the first time.  
He hadn’t had much time to explore the Alley and the connected Alleys as Artemisia had been quite determined to shop for  _ everything _ he would need, telling him that he would have more chances to explore on a later date.

She did, however, allow him free reign in the bookstore called Flourish and Blotts, allowing him to pick out five books that he wanted.  
She had scoffed at one of his choices and informed him that they had better books on the topic at home, books that hadn’t suffered the same Ministry limitations, allowing him to put it back and choose something else instead.

Once they had gotten home, she had almost immediately dumped the mentioned books on him, as though to prove her word.

Tom refused to acknowledge it, but the show of keeping her word had made him trust her ever so  _ slightly. _

The week after that had been to allow him to get used to living at the Manor (Castle, Tom privately amended) and believe that he was indeed meant to stay. She continued to answer any questions he had and if there was anything she deemed him too young to know, she told him that outright instead of lying to him. That was… a refreshing experience.

As opposed to the first day, he had begun receiving rules to follow though he was surprised that they weren’t more nor as restrictive as he had initially feared.

Breaking of rules were punished, but he found the punishments to be fair after much pouting and grumbling.  
Wool’s had been far more brutal in their punishments and Artemisia had vowed to never raise a hand against him for any reason. Mrs Cole had never been afraid of slapping the orphans whenever she believed it deserved and it startled Tom to watch the otherwise so composed Artemisia lose her cool at that admission.  
It had warmed a place in his heart to know that she cared enough to be  _ angered on his behalf. _

It had also taken him a week to realise that he didn’t know if he was still Thomas Riddle or if his name had been changed.

“Am I still a Riddle or am I a Peverell?” he eventually asked during their dinner.

Artemisia merely observed him for several moments, making him nearly fidget. “Which would you prefer?” she eventually countered.

Tom opened his mouth, only to close it again. He had always been a Riddle and the idea of being something else had never been on his mind before. He hadn’t believed that he would ever be adopted after all.

“Is Riddle a Wixen name?”

“No, it is strictly Muggle.”

Tom bit his lip. He had learned from some of his books about the importance of family names and knew that there were many that dated back centuries. Peverell was one of the oldest and most prestigious of them and he knew that it was  _ highly  _ respected.

“Even if you choose to be Thomas Riddle, you will still formally be Heir Peverell,” Artemisia decided to add.

Thomas Marvolo Peverell had a certain appeal to it, he had to admit that. Unless he opted to change his middle name too.

“How about we visit Gringotts and have them conduct a blood test to determine if you have rights to other Houses as well?” Artemisia continued when he did not respond. “Until then, you may take the time to decide whether you wish to remain a Riddle or become a Peverell.”

Tom nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”


	6. SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters after this one before we're caught up with all finished chapters and the updates will slow down!

The very next day, Artemisia apparated them back to Diagon Alley and steered them to a snow white building he had yet to step foot in.  
He already knew that the bank was run by Goblins and could keep his face blank when faced with one of them for the first time, it had taken all of his willpower not to stare at them like a fool.  
He was surprised at the bow that Artemisia received by the two guards guarding the entrance and the almost revered looks she received from them.

Once inside, she immediately strode to the Head Teller and ignored some of the scoffs directed at her from some of the other witches and wizards visiting the bank. They clearly thought her a fool to approach the  _ Head  _ Teller when everyone knew that it was simply not done and even  _ Tom  _ wondered what she was doing.

“Greetings Gornuk,” she said with a wide grin. “May your gold ever flow.”

The Goblin, Gornuk, immediately looked up and his eyes widened infinitesimally.  
“Greetings Lady Peverell,” he answered with an answering grin. “And may your enemies tremble at your feet. Now, what may Gringotts do for you today?”

“I wish for a private meeting with myself, my ward and any available Goblin.”

Gornuk’s gaze went to Tom who stood partially behind Artemisia and after a nod of confirmation from her, the Goblin nodded too.

“Follow me then,” he said as he hopped down from his high chair and began moving toward one of the doors leading out from the vast room.

Artemisia had immediately started to follow him and Tom had to hurry after them, without seeming like he did. Some of Artemisia’s etiquette lessons had already been ingrained in him, one which was the need to always seem composed and never rushed.

All three ignored the looks of disbelief of all witches and wizards present, while the Goblins treated it as an everyday occurrence.

No more words were spoken during their walk, neither Artemisia nor Gornuk seemed fond of small talk, and Tom tried to discreetly observe the surroundings.  
There were impressive carvings in the walls depicting what he assumed to be historic battles. He would have loved to look at them more closely, but realised that he would have to settle for the quick look he got while walking past.

Soon they entered an office where a Goblin older than Gornuk sat behind a desk. His most defining feature was the gruesome scars over one half of his face, clearly having compromised his sight and Tom wouldn’t be surprised if he had limited movement on that side.

“Ah, Lady Peverell, may your enemies tremble at your name,” the old Goblin grinned.

“Greetings Rodnuk, and may your vaults overflow,” Artemisia replied.

“What may I do for you today?”

“My new ward needs a blood test to see what families he may have the rights to.”

Rodnuk’s gaze turned to the young child partially hidden behind her and nodded. He reached into one of the drawers and procured a ritual knife and a special parchment, placing them on the desk.  
“Cut your finger and let five drops fall on the parchment,” he told Tom.

Tom glanced briefly at Artemisia and received a short nod. He took a deep breath, passed Artemisia and picked up the knife.  
It looked terribly sharp and he didn’t even need to use much force for it to cut. He had a moment of terror where he thought he would cut far too deep.

He let five drops fall onto the parchment and as he backed off, Artemisia silently healed the cut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the "Goblin greetings" people come up with, no regrets in using them


	7. SEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's beginning to be par for the course that I will completely forget about updating on time, oops?
> 
> One more chapter and we're caught up to all pre-written chapters! Once I've written up two or three more chapters I will once more update every second week.

Artemisia and Tom watched as words began to form on the parchment and waited until it stopped, before Artemisia picked it up.

“Gaunt, Slytherin and Peverell,” she said and showed Tom.

He observed his titles and began exploring the magical part of his family tree. His expression quickly twisted in disgust. “My grandparents were brother and sister?” He would _never_ admit to his voice having risen in pitch.

“The Gaunts are renowned for their inbreeding to keep Parseltongue in the family,” Artemisia sneered. “They are _obsessed_ with being the direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin.”

Tom was glad that he had been informed of him being a Parselmouth, and what it meant, during one of his many questioning sessions and didn’t have to humiliate himself by asking now. “It's ridiculous and disgusting.”

“You will not find anyone who disagrees with you,” Rodnuk said. “While marrying a _cousin_ or second cousin hasn’t been all that uncommon among the Purebloods, marrying a sibling is highly frowned upon.”

“Even marrying a cousin is discouraged, now that they are beginning to realise the dangers,” Artemisia added.

Tom nodded as he continued to look through the parchment. “We’re related?” he inquired and looked up at her.

“Very distantly,” she agreed. “I told you, you’re perfect.”

Tom fought a blush and Rodnuk was visibly amused.

Artemisia graciously allowed the child to regain his composure again, before she spoke again. “I trust that you have made a decision on your name.”

“Yes, I want to become a Peverell,” Tom answered with a firm nod. Gaunt didn’t have any appeal and Slytherin was too closely related to them, thus only Peverell would remain as he had already decided to discard his Muggle surname.

“Wonderful,” Artemisia grinned that terrible way she always tended to do when she was very pleased.

In the meantime, Rodnuk had procured the necessary paperwork (parchmentwork?) for a magical adoption. Correctly guessing the true reason for their visit. He very nearly preened when Artemisia looked pleased by his foresight, or so it seemed to Tom. He still didn’t understand the reverence the Goblins seemed to regard her with and was determined to find out once they were back home.

 _Home_. He realised with a start that he already considered Peverell Manor ( _Castle_ ) as his _home_.

He snapped back out of his thoughts when Artemisia signed the papers with a flourish and added a bloody thumbprint beneath her signature. She then had him do the same, though he hesitated briefly on his full name, and the parchment flashed gold. Signifying it being official.

“A copy has been sent to the Ministry and another copy will be sent to your vault,” Rodnuk informed them.


	8. EIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late, yet again. Maybe I should just aim for Saturdays whenever I do update. Decisions, decisions.
> 
> A little shorter than the previous chapters, which says a lot as the chapters are pretty short to begin with, haha!

They returned to the Manor by floo directly from the Bank. Tom— _Thomas_ immediately spun around to _finally_ ask Artemisia.

“Yes?” she was already watching him expectantly with a small grin on her face. As though she knew _exactly_ what he wanted to know, in hindsight he should have expected it.

“Why—,” he stopped to find the correct words. “The Goblins watched you with reverence, treated you with unparalleled respect and I want to know why.”  
He did his best to not make it a demand like he used to do at the orphanage, he instinctively knew that Artemisia wouldn’t appreciate it.

Artemisia’s grin widened. “It is because of another title I carry,” she said. “I am Lady Artemisia of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Peverell and... the _Master of Death_.”

Thomas stared.

He didn’t know how to react. He didn’t know exactly what her title meant, but felt a terror he hadn’t experienced since he last fell ill at the orphanage and didn’t know if he would survive.

“Worry not, my dear child,” Artemisia continued softly as she moved closer, “you are under my protection.” She then… kissed him on the top of his head, before gliding out of the room.

Thomas remained standing where he was for several long moments as he tried to calm his racing heart. He lived with the _one_ above _Death_ and he… _was under her protection_.

But what did it _mean to him?_

He definitely did not dare to ask, not yet.

He didn’t know how long he stood there and stared at the far wall, before he finally started moving with hesitant steps. He decided that he needed to go to the library to see if there was any information he could use, his steps slowly became surer.  
He was going to find as much information on what it meant to be Master of Death and about magical adoptions.

A part of him was already sure that he was safe with Artemisia, as she surely wouldn’t have gotten through all this trouble to simply _off_ him. Another, slightly larger, part of him was still infuriatingly uncertain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for now, unless I manage to write another chapter within two weeks.  
> I _do_ have chapter 9 written out, but if I don't finish chapter 10 I won't update on the 14th.


	9. NINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all in luck! I have begun writing on chapter 12, so regular updates shall continue for a while yet~
> 
> Also, I'm absolutely blown away how many kudos, bookmarks, views and comments this silly little fic has managed to gain ;o; Thank you all!

It took him a humiliating amount of days to stop treading so carefully around Artemisia, to her visible amusement.  
He was honestly glad that she hadn’t pushed him and allowed him to come to terms with this new information about his… guardian? Mother? Lady of his House? He wasn’t the least bit certain what he was meant to call her in that aspect.

He occasionally found himself touching the spot where she had kissed him, as though there would be some kind of physical proof that she had shown him _affection_. Not even that one couple who fostered him for a few weeks to determine if he was the child for them had done it (the fact that they very nearly physically threw him out after a bout of accidental magic still hurt).  
Artemisia hadn’t shown him that kind of physical affection before, all she had done had been to nearly daily assure him that he was meant to stay.

Granted he wouldn’t have accepted it before and it seemed to him that Artemisia had known exactly when to use it. What with his stupid habit of touching that spot on his head. 

He quickly removed his hand from his head. Again.

  
  


It was during one of these final days of carefully treading around her, that he finally found out about another form of magical adoption, _blood_ adoption, between his research on the Master of Death title.  
There wasn’t much information regarding blood adoption (or her title for that matter) in the books that he found, nor the books Holly found for him, and he realised that he would simply have to... bite the bullet and ask Artemisia. Not about her title, he didn’t dare to. Not yet.

He decided to wait until dinner time, in order to give himself the time to properly compose his questions, or that was what he told himself.

They began to eat in silence as Thomas tried to gather his courage to form _words_.

Artemisia finally put down her utensils and levelled him with a _look_.  
“Your thoughts are loud,” she said.

Thomas paused, before steeling himself. “I read about something in the library,” he started, “there wasn’t all that much information on it and I thought I’d ask you.”

“Go on,” Artemisia encouraged him with that terrible grin of hers.

“Blood adoption,” he blurted out instead of formulating a proper sentence.


	10. TEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. I am quite late with this update, oops.

Thomas very nearly slapped himself on the forehead. That  _ definitely  _ wasn’t how he was supposed to ask for more information. He was  _ supposed _ to  _ ask _ in a proper manner, not  _ blurt _ those two words out!

Artemisia tilted her head in a curious manner and it took him several long seconds to realise that she was waiting for him to elaborate.

He took a deep breath. “What does it entail?” he inquired. “The books I found were all vague.”

Artemisia nodded, before she moved her hand toward him. A book materialised during the movement and she placed it next to him as though she had held it in her hand the whole time. “This book should explain all that you wish to know,” she said.

Thomas reverently touched the obviously old book, before looking up at Artemisia. There was a part of him that was doubtful that he was even allowed to touch and read it, remembering an incident with his former foster parents.

Artemisia gave him an encouraging look, before speaking. “Due to the old language it may take you awhile to get through it, but I trust that you will come to me if you need clarification.”

Thomas nodded, before gently grabbing the book and carefully hugging it against his chest. There was a silent promise on his part to take very good care of it, not wishing to be the cause of the book being ruined in any way.

“Do not be alarmed, however, of the usage of blood,” Artemisia added with that terrible grin of hers. “It is a necessary ingredient to make it work.”

Well, now he had a clue as to why it was called  _ blood _ adoption. Though how the blood was used, he would need to read to find out.

He glanced at his  _ nearly _ empty plate, glanced down at his book and then up at Artemisia.

Artemisia let out a laugh, a surprisingly pleasant sound which contrasted her terrible grin. “Run along then, my child,” she said. “Go and read your book.”

Deep inside his chest, he felt a warmth unfurl at being called  _ my child _ genuinely for the first time in his life and he couldn’t help but smile at his… guardian. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, before slipping off the chair and quickly walking out of the dining room.

His destination was the library, despite being able to read the book wherever he wished.


	11. ELEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had every intention to upload chapter 11 back on the 12th, but then decided that I'd wait until I had more chapters written up (as I had only up to a third of chapter 12 written).  
> I ended up _super_ stressed at work, hit a writing block and even though my last workday of 2020 was on the 22nd I decided to ignore everything to focus on myself. Earlier today I was suckerpunched by sudden motivation to write on this fic and I am currently poking at chapter 15, as well as having written two chapters that won't even happen for a while yet (but am _super_ excited for).
> 
> Look out for chapter 12 on the 9th! After that I will resume my usual every second week updating schedule.

Despite the book not having been particularly long, it had still taken him a few days to get through it. The information was _dense_ and much of the wording was outdated, but with Artemisia’s help he had made his way through it. 

Truth be told, each time he had struggled with it Artemisia had appeared, as though summoned, to help him. He was curious as to how she did it, but decided that it was something he was going to try and figure out himself first before asking her directly.

He looked down on the book once he had closed it for the final time. He wondered if Artemisia would even _want_ to blood adopt him, if he decided that _he_ wanted it.

He bit his lower lip. There would be a lot of contemplating on his part whether he truly wanted this or if he only wanted the protection it could give him.

He may be Artemisia’s ward and technically her child, though he looked nothing like her.  
Artemisia had hair like wildfire, eyes green as death (no matter what he tried to tell himself), skin slightly darker than his awfully pale complexion and her facial features matched none of his. As for himself he had hair so dark it was nearly black and his bluegreen eyes were so dark that in some lighting they too almost looked black. His hair was so straight and lifeless compared to her wild but contained curls.

No one would think that he was her child, despite being a Peverell by name. At most, they would assume that he _might_ be her nephew and nothing closer than that. Claiming that he simply took after his father was absurd, he should have features from his mother even if they weren’t what most would notice at first and people _would_ eventually notice that he shared _none_ of hers.

He spent a whole week and more debating quietly with himself whether he wanted it.

In the end, he realised that he did. _Merlin_ , did he want it.

Especially since he had, more than once, _almost_ called Artemisia _Mother_ during the last week before quickly changing it to her name. He had a feeling that she knew what he had almost called her, judging by her softer smiles during those moments.

He felt all kinds of awful for denying himself to say it.

Once again, he waited until dinner.

He made it halfway through, before he asked, “Will you blood adopt me?”  
He chanced a quick glance at the surprised Artemisia, before he started to shove food in his mouth to prevent himself from blurting something stupid or retract his question.


	12. TWELVE

Artemisia gently grabbed his slightly shaking hand and once he carefully glanced back up at her without raising his head, she spoke.

“I would love to,” her voice was softer than he had ever heard it.

Thomas finally raised his head and couldn’t stop himself from smiling shyly at her soft expression. Granted a soft expression on _Artemisia_ wouldn’t look particularly soft on anyone else. 

Later, much _much_ later, he would say that Artemisia’s soft expressions made her look more _human_ than she normally did.

Artemisia informed him that they would discuss further once they had eaten and it took everything in him to stop himself from practically inhaling his food as fast as he could. It was something that didn’t go unnoticed by Artemisia, judging by her very amused expression.  
He was pretty certain she had _slowed down_ her own eating just to mess with him.

Thus it was no wonder he was the one who finished first and he forced himself into sitting still and waiting as patiently as he could.

It felt like an age before Artemisia put down her utensils and rose up. With a simple command of “ _Follow_ ” they left the family dining room for the family sitting room.

Artemisia sat down first on one of the couches—he was certain it had some fancy name he had yet to memorise—and patted the seat next to her. He didn’t even hesitate to follow her silent request.

“Now, as you already know, the Blood Adoption Potion will need the blood of the _parents_ ,” she said and he nodded in confirmation. “However, since I have no spouse, there is a risk of your appearance turning into a male version of myself.”

Thomas didn’t find himself all that averse to that, but knew that it would cause problems. “How can we solve that?” he inquired and hoped that there was a way to prevent it.

“Either we find someone else to provide their blood or we use yours,” she replied. “The risk of using someone else’s blood is that they could try to claim you, as if I would ever let _anyone_ sink their _filthy claws_ into you.” A darkness had crept over her features at the prospect of anyone attempting to claim Thomas, which curiously made something warm unfurl within him.

There had to be something _wrong_ with him, it couldn’t be normal to feel _happy_ that someone would promise murder or destruction upon someone else.

“And using mine?” he asked just to distract himself from his own thoughts.

“Your current features are those of your biological parents and thus, using your blood, will make it harder for anyone to figure out who your other parent would have been. I have already sown seeds in the minds of some members of the Wizengamot that I have a child that I lost years ago to a kidnapping and only recently have managed to find.” Artemisia gently stroked Thomas’ cheek and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into it.  
“People have already seen you at my side during our two trips to Diagon Alley, but none have managed to get a good enough look at you yet. I have already fended off questions of people wishing to meet you with the excuse that we wish to get used to each other first as the last time I supposedly saw you, you were still a newborn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always headcanoned that blood adoption requires blood from more than one person, otherwise the child will become a copy of their blood adopted parent. Oh, and that the effect can be nullified by using the blood of the child, essentially giving the child three parents.


	13. THIRTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I am a week late, mostly because I've been too exhausted lately to do anything and last week was... bad. Work keeps trying its best to kill me.
> 
> As compensation for this late update, I will attempt to update next week (after that it will be two weeks again).

Thomas stared at her.

She had already set a foundation that would make people believe that he was her _biological_ son and he was certain she had started it _before_ he had even found out about the existence of blood adoption.  
A feeling, that he had slowly and cautiously begun to identify as _love_ , slowly grew ever fiercer.

“Yes, I had plans to blood adopt you the moment I laid eyes on you, once you were comfortable enough with me to even mention it,” she said as she softly tapped him on the chin to make him notice that he had been gaping at her. “To my delight, you found out about it on your own and even approached me about it.”

Thomas was certain he was beaming at her, schooling his expression was suddenly far too difficult to attempt and he decided that he wouldn’t even try.

“What have you said about my hypothetical father and me being… a bastard,” he carefully asked.

“No one believes you to be a bastard at all,” she said reassuringly. “I made my debut only a few years ago as Lady Peverell and quietly spread rumours of having been homeschooled by my overprotective parents to avoid questions of why no one had seen me and to have an excuse for any perceived _ignorance_.”  
Her mischievous grin at her last words made it perfectly clear to Thomas that she took great delight in tricking the Lords and Ladies of their world and he couldn’t help but match her mischievousness. He would be able to exploit that too, to a lesser extent, later on.

“They are also under the assumption that I have been married after a few very subtle hints, but no one has dared to ask any questions about it,” she added as she sobered up. “Now there are rumours that it was my hypothetical husband who stole you from me and hid you.”   
Her terrible grin made a reappearance. “Better yet, every Pureblood worth their salt knows what happens when you wrong a Peverell despite all the time that has passed since we were a part of High Society.”

It took a few moments before the penny (or would that be _knut_?) dropped.

Everyone had to believe that Artemisia’s hypothetical husband was dead and buried in an unmarked grave somewhere, if he had even been allowed a grave at all.  
It would also explain why no one dared to ask about her supposed marriage and Thomas couldn’t stop his glee from showing on his face, he would never have to answer any questions about his supposed father. He would never have to make up a story about him, other than saying the truth that he didn’t know him at all. He would even be able to scare everyone off by telling them to ask his _Mother_ if they wished to know who he was, something no one would dare to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet ya'll thought this would be the chapter where he was blood adopted


	14. FOURTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see. I have been even more exhausted since my last update and actually ended up getting sick, most likely due to stress (spent four days mostly resting or sleeping and with a fever, day five was recuperating). Still, I have managed to claw my way through two work weeks since then, but hey, I finally managed to gather enough energy to properly clean my entire apartment for the first time in far too long yesterday.  
> Which leaves me here, finally updating again. May or may not throw chapter 15 at y'all tomorrow if I feel like it as some form of compensation and because this chapter is awfully short.

With all of that out of the way, only the planning on how to go forward remained.

“How do we get a Blood Adoption Potion?” Thomas asked curiously, he had found out about the illegality of any Blood Magic which blood adoption was a part of.

“The Goblins will aid us with that,” was Artemisia’s reply. “The Goblin Nation isn’t under the same restrictions as the Wixen World when it comes to certain magics and the Ministry wouldn’t even be able to enforce it anyway.”

Thomas nodded. The Goblins were very fond of Artemisia as far as he had seen, they seemed very keen on helping her with everything she asked. He wondered if everyone under the derogatory label of  _ creature  _ had the same respect for the one with the Master of Death title. That would be a question for a different time.

“You shall become Thomas Marvolo  _ Peverell _ in more than just Name and Magic before this day is over,” Artemisia said with a grin, a subdued version of her terrible one.

“I want to change my middle name,” Thomas suddenly declared. If he was to become Artemisia’s son in truth, he wanted  _ no one _ to connect his middle name to the deranged inbred Marvolo Gaunt. He didn’t want  _ anyone _ to think that  _ he _ was his father, nor grandfather.

“Have you decided upon a name then?”

“Thomas Artemios Peverell.”

He didn’t know how to describe the grin that spread across Artemisia’s face, but he  _ knew _ for certain that she approved of his new middle name. Especially when she gently placed her hands on either side of his face and softly kissed his forehead.

He smiled shyly at her when she released him. He had researched names and had first stumbled across Artemisios, the male version of Artemisia’s name, and then he had found Artemios. When he had found it, he knew that he would have it as his middle name.  
It was the perfect way to show his appreciation for everything Artemisia had done for him, by naming himself after her.


End file.
